and when it happens to you
by lord yuuri
Summary: you understand what it means to watch your world crumble before you. - "are you two the parents of yuri plisetsky?" viktor nods slowly. he feels yuuri's hand grip his. "i regret to inform you that your son has been in an accident."


**note: the lack of capitalization is intentional.**

* * *

viktor watches yuuri peek out of the window again. another peek. frantic pacing. another peek. rinse and repeat.

"where _is_ he?" yuuri huffs, pulling out his phone to undoubtedly send another text message. his fingers move at the speed of light, the standard movements of a worried father. he pulls back the silk curtains again. another peek. another huff.

viktor laughs.

yuuri gives him a frown coupled with the _look_. viktor is reminded that it is eleven at night and that yuri should have been home an hour ago.

"i'm sure yuratchka is fine, yuuri," he reassures. "he and otabek are out having fun. teenagers break curfew all the time, especially those that are in love. don't worry so much."

"still, it bothers me that he's not returning my texts."

"he's hanging out with his boyfriend, yuurichka; he doesn't want to be bothered with his parents."

yuuri frowns, but agrees. he gives viktor a warm smile. mellifluous, charming. "do you think he'll tell us how his date with beka went?"

"nosy, aren't we? ah, don't give me that look - i am, too. if he doesn't tell us right away, then we can always coax it out - "

the doorbell rings. viktor and yuuri give each other a curious stare. it's awfully late for anyone to be ringing the doorbell. surely it wouldn't be yurio? he would have used his keys. viktor shrugs and heads to the door, looking through the peephole.

a police officer. stern-faced, tired and dull blue eyes. his presence spoke of trouble.

viktor did not like this.

he opens the door, greets the officer with a smile. yuuri appears behind viktor, placing a hand on his shoulder. a look of confusion mars his face. viktor knows that the raven-haired man feels the uneasy tension.

the officer introduces himself - alexei ivanov - and apologies for disturbing the couple at this hour.

"are you two the parents of yuri plisetsky?" he asks. he sounds exhausted, monotone, as if this routine of his was finally wearing him down.

viktor nods slowly. he feels yuuri's hand grip his tightly. he could hear the fast heartbeats.

"i regret to inform you that your son has been in an accident."

* * *

yuuri's breaths are heavy. "oh god, oh god, oh my god. _yuri._ oh no, no, _nopleasegodno._ "

viktor grasps yuuri's hand, tells him to calm down, that everything will be alright. his other hand tightens on the steering wheel. speed limits are currently being broken. he will probably be ticketed.

he does not care.

* * *

"i'm sorry," she says in english, "but yuri cannot have visitors right now. he's in the middle - "

this was the poor receptionist's fifth time saying this. or maybe tenth. who knows. it went in one ear and out the other. a broken record playing a tune that viktor grew tired of hearing.

it wasn't her fault, it really wasn't. she was just doing her job.

viktor hears a loud thump. he turns to see yuuri curled on the floor, sobbing loudly. hitched breaths, hands isolating his face from the cruel world. the uncertainty, the uneasiness has gotten to him. the chair he sat on laid on its side. the few people in the waiting room stare at him, as if they are unsure as to whether or not they should console or leave him to wallow in his sorrow.

viktor turns back to the woman. he tries again, he has to try again. he begs her, voice cracking like glass. we need to see our son. _we need to see him._

"i am _sorry_ \- "

he screams at her in russian. vile, unneeded curses. hurtful, but not damaging. a semblance of himself quickly comes back, and he apologizes. he just wants to see his son, know if he's alright, know if he is still _here_.

the woman nods, says she understands how he feels (but she doesn't, she doesn't fucking understand at all). she repeats it one more time: "i apologize, mr. katsuki-nikiforov, but yuri is in surgery right now. he cannot be seen. please be patient."

viktor sighs. he walks away in defeat, sits next to yuuri on the floor and cradles him gently. whispers reassurances in his ear, knowing that yuuri does not believe him, but he does so anyway because his own sanity, his own mind needs it.

viktor does not remember the last time he has prayed, or even if he had ever done so, but he does it anyway and hopes his pleas are heard.

* * *

three in the morning. the doctor escorts them to their destination: room 14a. he opens the door and allows the worried parents to enter first.

the boy is awake. his face is pale, his eyes are dull. his blonde hair is dirtied. specks of blood are noticeable, cuts and bruises mark his skin. he resembles a ghost - a boy that is no longer of this world.

viktor resists the urge to look away.

"dad...papa..." he tries to raise his arm, but the iv prevents him. he lets it slowly fall and instead closes his eyes, silent and angry and scared tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

without hesitation, they rush to his side. yuuri clasps yuri's hand, squeezing it gently. he is crying again.

"i'm - " yuri pauses to cough up a small amount of blood. vermillion dots decorate the sheets. viktor reaches for a tissue to wipe yuri's mouth. his hand shakes.

" - sorry...sorry for - "

another cough.

" - not coming home when i was supposed to. i...i convinced beka to stay out a - "

 _cough._

" - a b-bit - "

 _cough, cough._

" - longer. i should have let him take me home earlier. damnit. damnit, damnit, _damnitdamnitdamnit._ "

yuuri shushes him, tells him to calm down, sweetie, you'll be okay. you're father and i are here now - _you'll be okay._ yuri nods stiffly. he chants it with yuuri.

 _you'll be okay. you'll be okay._

the doctor enters the room and beckons viktor to come here. the russian places a quick peck upon yuuri's (warm) hand and yuri's (cold) hand and stands up. the doctor leads him out of the room, starts off with the "i'm sorry's".

viktor leans against the wall, arms crossed against his chest to prevent them from shaking. he is scared, he is scared and worried and frantic. he speaks to the doctor (his only hope for a miracle) in russian, asks him what happened to yuri.

the doctor sighs heavily. a tone of sadness is noticeable. he explains that two teenage boys - otabek altin and yuri plisetsky - were driving home when a drunk driver hit them. the man was driving down the wrong side of the road. the doctor apologizes again.

viktor does not hear it. he feels his blood boil, the beat of heart increase. _ba-dump. ba-dump. ba-dump._ there are so many questions that run through his frantic mind, and yet he cannot find the answer to a single one. he attempts to calm himself down, reminds himself to _breathe, viktor, breathe,_ and asks the doctor about otabek.

"the boy is asleep right now. he is currently in stable condition."

viktor exhales a breath of relief. that is one worry off his shoulder. he then asks if yuri will be okay, prepares himself for the good news (and ignore the dreadful feeling that says otherwise).

"we are unsure if yuri will make it."

viktor stares at the doctor as if he is some crazed stranger. he is sure he did not hear that right - he is _positive_ that he did not hear that right.

 _"what?"_

"yuri's injuries are more severe than otabek's. we have him in stable condition now, but we can not guarantee - "

"you are a doctor. how are you not sure whether or not yuratchka will be okay? you said it yourself - he's okay, he's fine."

"yes, he is, but just for this - "

"then how the _fuck_ are you _unsure?"_

 _"viktor."_

he turns around to see yuuri standing behind him, a worried expression on his face. he intertwines his own hand with viktor's, and viktor thanks the heavens that yuuri katsuki-nikiforov is here with him.

"yuri fell asleep," he explains. "i was getting him another blanket when i suddenly heard you yelling."

"i'm...i'm sorry," viktor says, pulling yuuri into a hug. he nuzzles against yuuri's shoulder, tells himself to be calm, it'll be okay, yuri will be okay, we'll be okay. he wants to lose himself in the safety of his own mind, to pretend the he and yuuri are currently at home, prodding yuri for information about his date with otabek; and he almost succeeds until yuuri's soft voice reels him back in.

"so, what happened? will yurio be alright? what about otabek?"

viktor keeps his head down as he explains what he has been told. he doesn't dare look up; the hitched breaths and the cracking "no, no, no" and the slight shivering of yuuri's shoulders speaks volumes.

"why is this happening? why is this happening? this isn't fair, viktor."

"i know, yuurichka, i know." his voice is muffled, and he is unsure of whether or not yuuri truly understands his words. "please don't cry. i'm sure everything will be - "

an agonized scream cuts him off, and both parents immediately turn to see yuri flailing his limbs wildly. the iv falls from his arm, and crimson trickles to the floor. everything moves so _fast_ ; viktor cannot keep up. yuuri starts screaming for help. doctors rush in, orders them to not enter the room. there's blood, so much blood. they try to hold yuri down. yuuri screams louder. viktor feels someone push him and yuuri away from the door - away from yuri.

 _everything moves so fast._

* * *

they are the only ones that are in the lobby. yuuri stands in front of a vending machine, struggling to open a can of soda. he throws it to the ground. strawberry-flavored liquid immediately spreads over the linoleum floor.

"oh - oh my god, i-i-i - _fuck_."

yuuri lets out a string of unbridled curses. he cannot handle this, he cannot handle this. viktor hugs him and tries to calm him down (for that's all he can do).

"how can i be calm when yurio's _dying_ , vitya!"

"don't _say_ that. he's not dying, yuuri."

"he _is_ , viktor. he is because of some-some drunk lowlife _asshole_ \- "

he sobs. he sobs and slips from viktor's embrace. viktor kneels and runs his hand through yuuri's onyx hair before pulling him into a tight hug. he holds him without a single word being said because words are laced with pain and sadness and uncertainty. words lead to heart ache and tears and viktor isn't sure if he can heal that. so he remains silent, softly rubbing yuuri's back, because silence does not bring you pain. silence does not bring you sadness. silence envelops you in a net of safety, hiding you from the cruel truths of reality.

"i'm sorry," yuuri says after a few moments, sniffling.

"hm?"

"i'm...i'm sorry. for dropping the soda and making a mess. i...didn't mean to do that."

viktor takes a glance to his left. the soda has spread under the chairs. it reminds him of fresh blood.

he quickly looks away.

"it's okay, yuuri. it's okay."

* * *

five a.m. on december 31st, 2016.

they wheel the young boy out of the room. a white sheet covers him from saddened eyes, from regretful eyes.

the doctor gives his routine condolences.

yuuri's cries are heard throughout the entire floor.

viktor throws up in the wastebasket for the third time.

* * *

they returned home two hours later.

yuuri collapses onto the floor, hiding his face with his hands. he trembles and sobs, bares his pain to the world and lets it feel what he feels.

"yuuri - " viktor starts, kneeling down to hold yuuri. his hand is weakly pushed away.

" _don't,_ viktor. just...don't."

viktor sighs. he remains there with yuuri until the cries stop.

* * *

his room is at the end of the hall. the door is closed.

neither yuuri nor viktor dare approach it.

* * *

mila and georgi call viktor a few days later. they give out the standard condolences, express their disbelief and sadness and remind viktor to stay strong. he thanks them for their support and tells them of the date for the fifteen-year-old boy's funeral.

* * *

the sky cries along with yuuri as the coffin is slowly lowered into the grave.

* * *

viktor watches yuuri stare out the window. the raven-haired man barely speaks anymore; just cries.

* * *

yuuri remains at home. can't do it, he says. he just can't do it. he tells viktor to apologize for him.

viktor places the teddy bear on the small table next to otabek's bed. the doctors say he's in good enough condition to finally leave tomorrow. they say that otabek altin is lucky to see another day.

 _(why couldn't yuri plisetsky be lucky, too?)_

viktor sits next to otabek, places his on hand on the eighteen-year-old boy's. he struggles to find the energy to speak - bile rises in his throat - but the broken look in otabek's eyes show that he _knows_. he knows the pain viktor feels.

otabek breaks the silence: "how is yuuri doing?"

"not good," viktor says. there was no point in lying. yuuri katsuki hasn't been good for a month now. therapy helps, but only a bit.

"i...i give my condolences, though i'm sure you are tired of hearing them."

viktor sighs. he leans in close to otabek, looks him straight in the eyes.

"you know what, beka? i am. i am tired of hearing a lot of things." there's an edge to his voice, one that was not meant to be there. he casts his eyes downwards, guilt washing over him.

another silence. viktor hates these silences - they've become commonplace, another reoccurring moment in his life.

"i...i am sorry."

"don't be, otabek. i...didn't mean to sound like that."

"i am sorry for everything," otabek continues, his voice low. he sighs shakily, shutting his eyes for a moment before reopening them.

"no, beka. no, no, no. don't say that. none of this is your - "

"we were driving home," he interrupts. his eyes are not focused on viktor but instead at the small vase of flowers placed near the foot of the bed. "he was talking about making some katsudon pirozhki for you and yuuri. said he'd give me some, too. 'you'll love it, beka. you'll love it.' said that when we're older and married, he'll always make this dish until we grow sick and tired of it. and i asked if he really wanted to marry me and...and he said, 'of course, silly beka - doesn't yuri plisetsky-altin have a nice ring to it?' and i-and i was just _so happy_ because i'd always dreamed about that, dreamed about marrying yuri. i would've checked with you and yuuri first, get both of your blessings. then, i'd..i'd give him this little cat plushie that would be holding a small velvet box and h-h-he'd open it and see this gold ring - the most expensive one i could find because yuri is _worth_ it. yuri is worth all the gold and silver in the world. he is worth all the stars and galaxies. yuri plisetsky is worth everything and i wanted him to know that. and we would have this big wedding that everyone would have been at and our honeymoon would be at some place like paris. and...and maybe we'd even moved there. maybe we would moved to almaty or stayed here in saint petersburg. it doesn't matter because we would have been together, just him and i. i would give him everything his heart desires because yuri plisetsky loves me and i love him.

but i can't, because he's not here anymore and it _hurts_ , it _hurts_ so badly. it hurts knowing i can't see his smile anymore. it hurts knowing that i can't hear his voice anymore, or see his beautiful eyes light up every time he sees a stray kitten walk past. it hurts knowing that everything we were meant to do can't happen anymore. it _hurts so badly_ , viktor, and i don't know how to make the pain go away. i-i sh-sh-should have been the one to die. it should have been me instead of him. his life is worth more than my own. i'm sorry, viktor. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry."

otabek now looks at viktor with hurt, pained eyes. tears trickle silently down his face and onto his clenched, shaky hands. viktor pulls otabek into a hug, allows him to sob into his shoulder. he holds him there, lets him cry out the pain, the grief.

(though viktor knows it would never go away, this pain, this grief. it'll always be there and nothing anyone can do anything about it).

"i'm sorry. i'm sorry. _i'm sorry."_

* * *

hours later, in the darkness and silence of the night, viktor katsuki-nikiforov could still hear otabek's cries reverberate in his mind.

* * *

viktor finds him there, laying on yuri's bed, holding the boy's favorite cat plushie. it is a cheetah that he had begged viktor and yuuri many a time until they finally gave in. yuuri messes with the toy kitty's ears, staring at the ceiling.

"i would catch yurio doing this a lot," yuuri says, his voice almost a whisper. viktor isn't sure if the words are directed to him or not, but he responds as if they were.

"i would wonder what he was thinking then. i think he got that from me, just thinking about every little thing."

viktor enters the room and feels his heart instantly grow heavy. he has not been in here since that day. he joins yuuri on the bed, staring at the ceiling, so blank and plain. yuri wanted a cat print on all the walls. "maybe one of a snow tiger", he once said. "or a lion."

yuuri hands viktor the plushie. he holds it gingerly, as if it will fall apart in his hands at the slightest movement.

"it...it doesn't hurt to be in here," yuuri says. "not that badly, at least."

"okay," viktor replies, continuing the tradition of messing with the kitty's ears. yuuri's right - it doesn't hurt as much as he expected. viktor is unsure if it's a sign of acceptance, but if it is, then he is not sure if he is ready for such a thing.

"to be honest, i want to cry, but i'm too tired of that. i'm tired of crying, vitya."

"okay."

"are you afraid of saying anything else?"

viktor shakes his head, letting the plushie rest on his chest. he slides one hand underneath yuuri's, and feels relieved that yuuri clasps their fingers together.

"no. i'm just...tired, too."

"do you think we'll be able to move on? is there such a thing as moving on from this?"

viktor looks at yuuri, and yuuri looks at him. viktor sees a small sparkle in those muted brown eyes, a sparkle that he has not seen in a long time. yuuri is hopeful, and viktor wants to be, too. he wants that sparkle as well. he wants a lot of things, some he cannot have ever again, some he can.

he thinks back to his visit with otabek. he thinks back to his feelings then and his feelings now. he thinks about himself and yuuri. he thinks about the past, present, and future.

viktor decides that he wants to _believe._

"i don't know," he replies after a moment, smiling. "i don't think we can ever truly move on, but...but i think yuri would want to see us smile."

yuuri returns the smile. it is small, it is sad, but it is a _sign_.

"yeah, you're right."

* * *

three months have faded into the past. march 1st is here.

he would've been sixteen today. he was just a boy. he had so much to look forward to.

it is yuuri that decided they do this. they needed to, he claimed. this is what needed be to done. the completion of the seventh step. they can do this.

the air isn't that cold. a bit chilly, but tolerable. unusual for a spring day in saint petersburg. viktor could hear the snarky remark yurio would have said in his mind. it's as clear as day, as if yuri is walking besides them, black hoodie pulled up, red cheetah-print shoes making a soft thump each time they collided with the ground.

(he turned his head slightly to the side, just to make sure.)

it didn't take them long to arrive here. they don't say much, though the words they say are relatively amicable. they walked past the others, looking straight ahead. viktor gives yuuri the cat plushie - a snow tiger, specifically. yuri had his eyes on that for an entire year, always said that this one was rare to find. viktor and yuuri worked hard to keep it hidden from him until this day arrived.

viktor feels a slight growing sense of apprehension, but he marches forward. he marches for his sake, for yuuri's sake, and for yurio's sake. he marches forward because he knows yurio would want him to.

 _"smile, old man,"_ he hears him say. _"you and dad smile and_ live, _for me_. _"_

they arrived to their destination. the tombstone matched the sky: a murky, dull gray. viktor hears yurio complain about the dullness. _"they could've painted it red, at least. jeez."_

"happy birthday, yurio, darling," yuuri says, a trembling smile forming on his face. the tears form at the corners of his eyes, and yuuri uses his free hand to wipe them away. "thank you for everything, our...sweet...yuratchka..."

a breeze goes by.

 _he was just a boy._

 _"smile and live."_

viktor drops to his knees and _cries_.

* * *

 _ **all i wanted to do was write a family!au.**_

 **i think i hate myself for writing this.**

 **excuse me while i go teach myself how to write happy, cheerful things.**

 **i apologize in advance for the quality of this story. i've been working on this for quite the while now, and it has been quite difficult. i hope it turned out well. i feel like i could have gone a bit more in-depth or make things flow more smoothly (like the scene where the doctor tells viktor about how yuri received his injuries), but i'm not sure. it's like something is missing, but i don't know _what_. i guess i don't write angst as well as i thought i did, haha. i'd really appreciate constructive feedback for this story. plz and thankies.**

 **(i swear to you all that when lil' yurio's birthday comes around, i will something totally sweet and fluffy and adorable and all that good stuff...maybe.)**


End file.
